


needle: threaded. i am forcibly removed from the galaxy garrison

by ayushi_writes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flustered Keith (Voltron), Happy Birthday Lance Is The Best Boy, Keith is a disaster gay, M/M, Take It I Don’t Want To Look At Her Anymore, all of twitter: screaming about ship discourse, fujckbnvx i love a Blushy Boy, he just wants to give his crush a birthday card, imagine the to be continued meme music playing after that sentence, keith thinks lance’s name is taylor, me: yall hear sumn...., theyre all at the garrison & keith and lance are magically both fighter pilots woooo, this was meant for lance’s bday but i started writing it at like 10pm on july 28th so uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 22:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayushi_writes/pseuds/ayushi_writes
Summary: He finally straightens up, taking in little gasps of air. “Sorry, I just... dude. I don’t know how you missed this in the last, I don’t know,couple of years, but my name’s not Taylor. It’s Lance.”Keith.exe has stopped working.-alternate title: keith tries to do something nice what could go wrong





	needle: threaded. i am forcibly removed from the galaxy garrison

**Author's Note:**

> based off the “keith thought lance’s name was taylor back at the garrison bc of lance’s ‘thread the needle’ line” thing which is. Absolutely Hilarious to me
> 
> auish like they’re both at the garrison & there’s no space mecha fursuits 
> 
> also i KNOW it makes no sense for them to be at the garrison during july but this is My shitty fic and i don’t have to follow the conventional american school year for an american setting if i dont want to
> 
> i use a lot of em dashes but like i dont know how else to write the weird way ppl talk irl
> 
> brought to you by: a real life disaster bi

The first Keith hears of the matter is while he’s leaning on the wall outside of a classroom, fiddling with the ugly orange sleeve of his garrison-issued uniform. Hunk Garrett, someone he used to cast longing glances at throughout first year before his dumbass teenage heart gave up on his crush over the summer, is walking down the hall next to yet another recipient of Keith’s hidden longing glances™️.

Taylor. All Keith’s heard of him is that he brags about his piloting skills loudly in the cafeteria, making some awful pun on his name and “threading the needle.” He has obnoxiously clear warm brown skin and a long, lanky frame and hands that motion out what he’s talking about and Keith... Keith watches him talk far too often. But always from a distance— he can’t afford having to live with the awkwardness of any potential interaction. He internally cringes, remembering trying to make a move on Hunk first year— Hunk, one of the most personable and easy-to-talk-to students at the garrison— and somehow muttering, “Nice... head... band... I have— class to—“ and then bolting off. And then not speaking a word to him for the next three years.

Keith is a disaster gay, okay? He’s accepted it.

He’s brought back to the present by Hunk saying, “It’s your birthday, man, you can’t _not_ wear the hat! It’s tradition!”

He glances up again and realizes that he somehow missed the dorky ass birthday cone hat perched on Taylor’s head. Taylor’s responding to Hunk, arguing back but with a good-natured smile on his face but Keith’s still stuck on the “birthday” thing.

Birthday? Today? _That means he’s a Leo,_ his mind unhelpfully supplies. He only knows this because of those girls that sit behind him in class and argue over astrology, one of them citing something about fire signs and retrograde or whatever. 

He should... do something? No, that’s weird, they’ve only had like three interactions total. It’s not like they’re friends— hell, they’re only in a couple of classes together. Taylor is talkative and friendly and makes other people laugh even at his own expense and Keith can’t hold conversations for longer than two minutes.

What would he even do? Saunter up to him and say, “Hey, I know we’ve never spoken more than ten words to each other, but I just wanted to wish you happy birthday and also, please like me back, please,”? Of course, that’s assuming he’d be able to get more than three words out without panicking. He’d have to write the words out on his hand in pen or something first.

Or.

* * *

Keith stares down at his desk. A piece of slightly crumpled paper stares back at him. 

If he starts now, he’ll _have_ to give it to him. Even if he throws it away, he’ll have to live with the knowledge of the scrunched-up birthday card sitting in his trash can, a tribute to his cowardice and failure.

Maybe it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe cute boys are just probably the second most daunting thing he’ll ever face, after actual aliens attacking.

 _Happy Birthday Taylor._ Easy enough. Now he just has to... write in it. Or at least brainstorm. _You’re cute. And friendly. Please date me. We can adopt so many cats together._

Maybe something a little more subtle. Something nice about his piloting, or his jokes, or his laugh, or his glowing skin, or the way he drums his fingers on the edge of his desk during class, or Keith needs to take it down by like, five notches.

Somehow fifteen minutes pass by as Keith tosses his pen from hand to hand, occasionally writing something down in a burst of inspiration. It isn’t poetry, but it seems coherent enough. Soon enough, he’s scribbling his name with just enough space to add another sentence.

At some point, this turned from a random act of kindness for a painfully cute classmate into something with more potential. He turns the words over in his head.

_Wanna go out sometime?_

Best case outcome, Taylor is totally into weird pale introverted guys and says yes and they go on a date that turns into a second date that turns into an apartment with warm coffee smells and cats’ yowling drifting through it. Worst case outcome, Taylor’s straight, freaks out, and tries to punch him, leading to Keith getting in trouble for beating up a student because, c’mon, he’d totally win.

The shyness that’s been plaguing him throughout this whole process frustrates him. Keith’s 100% instinct and 0% impulse control most of the time, what’s holding him back now? 

He scrawls it on the bottom, making it look like an afterthought despite how long he spends agonizing over actually putting the words there. Sitting back, he reads it over. It _seems_ okay. But he has no fucking clue how to talk to people, let alone how to express emotions In Written Words.

Keith needs: a proofreader.

* * *

“So... you came to me with boy troubles?”

Keith feels the back of his neck heat up. “Look, you don’t have to, I just... you’re the only person I— whatever, I’ll go.” He makes to grab the card out of Shiro’s hand but the latter holds it up out of his reach, looking far too amused considering the gravity of the situation.

“No! No, I’m glad you asked.” Shiro’s face softens. “Don’t hesitate to come to me for anything, Keith, whether for studies or personal matters.”

He looks down at the card and his eyes widen slightly at the front. “This is for, uh, that boy you brought up during training yesterday?”

“Yeah. Is it, is it too much?”

“No, it’s good, just uh... we’re thinking of the same guy, right?” Shiro’s eyes skim across the cramped black ink inside the card.

Keith huffs. “Tall, dark, anime-guy attractive?”

Shiro’s lips tug upwards. “Yeah, I think he’ll like it. Just, uh, I know you’re doing the whole card thing to minimize verbal communication, but I think he’ll be very interested in what you have to say.” He hands the card over, claps Keith on the back. “Go get ‘em.”

* * *

Throughout the entirety of his last class, Keith’s psyching himself up. _Just give it to him, Kogane. Just walk up to him and incriminate yourself as the kid who has a big fat, embarrassing—_

The bell rings, interrupting his thoughts. His eyes dart across the room to Taylor, who’s grabbing his things and chattering about something to Pidge Gunderson, who he once caught sneaking out of Iverson’s office while out on some... extracurricular midnight activities himself. They had both made eye contact, nodded, and continued on their separate ways without exchanging a word.

Students were filing out the door into the hallway. This was his chance.

“Taylor!”

Taylor doesn’t turn around.

Keith tries to not take it as a sign.

* * *

He finally corners him after dinner. The door from the boys’ bathroom to the hallway has barely swung shut when Keith confronts him.

Taylor’s eyebrows arch upon making eye contact. “Uh... hi? Keith?”

“I—“ Dammit, why didn’t he think of something to say? “I, uh, heard it was your birthday. Today. So, uh, happy birthday?” His voice pitches higher as he gets more nervous, looking down and yanking at the bottom of his glove.

Through his eyelashes he sees Taylor break into a grin and _wow_ that is a Full-On Taylor Grin directed at _him_ , fuck. “Thanks man!” Taylor says, sounding genuinely grateful. “I’m guessing you could tell from the hat, huh?” He gestures up at it, smile turning somewhat bashful.

“Yeah, I— well, I— here,” he finally spits out, shoving the card hidden behind his back towards Taylor unceremoniously.

The latter’s face brightens. “Aw, dude, you made me a card? You sh—“ He stops dead, brows furrowing. 

Keith feels his already-heightened pulse pick up. Does he hate it?

“Is— is this a joke?” Taylor’s voice is confused, edged with something worrying. 

His heart sinks. “No? I know it’s not, like, the fanciest or anything, but it was kind of on short notice, so—“

“Keith. Are— do you know what my name is?”

“Taylor?” Keith says weakly.

Taylor’s face scrunches up further. “What— why do you think that?”

“You, I overheard you making a joke about your name and ‘threading the needle’ like the— the second day of school.” 

And suddenly Taylor’s face falls slack. “You— you think...” He trails off.

Keith had anticipated a bemused reaction, but nothing like this. He had also expected ridicule, but the peals of laughter that Taylor bursts into don’t sound mocking, they sound... he doesn’t know. Keith doesn’t know much of what’s happening right now.

“Could you maybe explain why you’re— wow, you’re really losing it.” Keith helplessly pats Taylor’s back as he’s bent over wheezing.

He finally straightens up, taking in little gasps of air. “Sorry, I just... dude. I don’t know how you missed this in the last, I don’t know, _couple of years_ , but my name’s not Taylor. It’s Lance.”

Keith.exe has stopped working.

Well, not really, but all functions have temporarily shut down in favor of the blaring “You Are a Fucking Fool” alert echoing throughout his head.

He’d. He’d fucking gotten his _crush’s name wrong._

Keith has never had much time or care for religious affiliations, except for some vague memory of being forced to go to Sunday school at a young age. But in this moment, in the ugly fluorescent lighting of a garrison corridor, the boy he likes still letting out snorts and chuckles, clutching a birthday card with the _wrong fucking name on it_ , Keith is tempted to send out a prayer for once in his life. A sincere, genuine prayer to whatever dwells in the sky or beyond for a death machine to come down and sweep him up in its jaws so he doesn’t have to face existing in this hallway for another second.

Closing his eyes, Keith tries to put together a string of words to adequately express how utterly mortified he is. 

“I am... so sorry. Holy shit. I really, I can’t believe that I spent so long— I’m sorry, fuck. I should go. Happy Birthday, Lance. I hope you had a good one. I’m, I.” He doesn’t know how to finish, giving up and turning on his heel to flee down the hallway and to his bed to hide in him room for the next ten thousand years. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Lance will get selected for a mission on Pluto and he never has to face him again.

“Hey, wait up!” Lance’s— Lance, Lance, _Lance_ , jesus christ, Keith’s an idiot— voice is warm, no harshness or judgement in his tone. “I didn’t even get to finish reading your card!”

Keith turns around and Lance is smiling brightly at him, waving his card in the air with a little _fwupwupwup_ noise. 

“Uh. You can.” Keith gestures awkwardly towards it, electing to stay because how much worse can it get, really?

Lance opens the card, eyes moving from one side to the other and Keith is going crazy watching him read so _slowly_ , prolonging his agony. He can tell when Lance reaches the last sentence, though, when his eyebrows quirk up and he looks up at him.

Damage control, Kogane, damage control. “You don’t have to—“ Keith flaps his hand. “I mean, I understand if—“ Why do words keep getting stuck in his throat? “It’s whatever. Just, forget it.” His eyes fall to the scuffed linoleum tiling.

“I don’t think there’s anything about this I’ll ever forget.” There’s a smile in Lance’s voice, he can tell without looking. “I don’t think I can quite forgive it, either. Yet.”

Keith looks up. Lance’s face is suddenly serious. Shit, how can he—

“I think you could make it up with a memorable first date, though.” And that grin’s back in place, and Keith’s stomach feels less like a family of eels.

“But seriously, thank you Keith. I got a couple of cards today, and a lot of wishes from people who know my name but not much else about me, and this... this is really sweet. And you’re kinda cute when you’re embarrassed.” Lance wiggles his eyebrows at him, a hand catching Keith’s arm and pulling him closer.

Do they kiss now? Are they supposed to kiss? Keith can’t tell if he wants to or not. Panicking, he tilts his head up and— is met with Lance’s shoulder. Oh. This is a hug. He feels a gentle laugh rumble through Lance’s chest.

“Easy there, tiger.” He flushes, pushing up on his toes, into the hug to hide his face. 

“Shut up, Lance.”

“Ohh, you got it right that time!”

Keith drops back onto his heels, crossing his arms. “Are you going to hold that against me forever?”

Lance gives him an easy smile. “Play your cards right, and you’ll have something else to hold against you.”

What the fuck has he gotten himself into?

Lance leans in and Keith goes very still. Then he feels soft lips press against his cheek. “But that’s all you’re getting for tonight, buddy.” 

Keith ducks his head to hide the embarrassing dorky grin threatening to break out on his face. It does little to help, evidently, as Lance snorts and bumps his shoulder.

“We should probably be getting back to the dorms.”

“Oh, right,” and before Keith can think, Lance has slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling them both towards the end of the hallway leading towards their dorms.

Maybe, Keith thinks, Lance’s warmth pressed against his side, there’s some merit to verbal communication.

**Author's Note:**

> ive stared at this fic for so many hours
> 
> the only good sentence ive ever written is the fwupwupwup line
> 
> shoutout to my sister putting up w me pestering her to read over this, as well as me misreading “keith cocaine” while reading it out loud but she Gets It bc hey [she's a writer here’s her tumblr](https://forevfangirlwrites.tumblr.com)
> 
> as well as my wife liv who got me into voltron & put up w me whining abt this fic at 3am [she writes good shit as well here’s her ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livhasnolife/pseuds/livhasnolife)
> 
> [go, be gay w me on tunglr](https://ayushipop.tumblr.com)
> 
> lemme know what you thought!! if you say mean things to me on the internet ill cry but yall can still say them w no repercussions!!! magic!!!


End file.
